David stood, brushing fish scales from his clothes, speaking to Jerrid. “We’d gathered in the alehouse, awaiting Sir Adrian. I saw Prophet in the main drinking room, just slipping out the door, and I followed him. Four of them jumped me, dragged me up here and trussed me like a capon for the pot. It was a trap, set and sprung. They were waiting for his lordship to come after me. He did, but by then I was unable to help him. Lord Nicholas fought against four of them, wounded one, chased one off, but was already badly injured.”
Nicholas insisted faintly, “Not bad. Not so good. But not bad.”
Alan was still catching his breath. “By the time I arrived, damned Francis Prophet and some other dirty bugger turned up too. I chased Prophet upstairs, trying to make sure his lordship didn’t have yet another slavering bastard against him.”
“Prophet – most dangerous,” Nicholas said, again trying to rise.
“But now dead,” Jerrid told his nephew. “Alan’s work, with a little help from your wife.”
Emeline smiled and clutched at her husband’s unwounded hand. “I didn’t do much. I wish I could have done more.”
Nicholas, sight still blood blurred, stared up around him. “Now the place seems to be filled with females,” he said vaguely.
“Please stay quite still, my lord,” said Martha with magisterial command, “while I shall tend to these nasty cuts. I have no ointments with me, but a torn sheet makes fine bandages. We don’t want to be left with any more scars, now do we!”
Chapter Fifty-Four
“The Tower,” Jerrid said. “I want the best. The boy’s sick. It’s too far back to the Strand; an hour even on horseback. But no dirt lane barber will do, nor some grub streaked doctor more interested in hurrying off to his supper. The Tower is the best organised palace in the country, and there’s a doctor and his assistant there worthy of ministering to councils and kings.”
“But my lord, in these old clothes? They will think us beggars,” David frowned. “The Tower is the busiest as well as most efficient – but also the best guarded.”
“They know the Chatwyn name.” Jerrid shook his head, leaning down to help Nicholas stand, yet half falling in his arms. “Brackenbury knows Nicholas and Symond both. After all, my brother was once on the council, and young Nick has a reputation with those who know. You’d best ride ahead, Witton. Tell them we’re coming and why. I’ll get the boy mounted and follow you.”
Nicholas remained on the stool, his head back against the wall. He now wore a crown of bandages. His left hand was tied within a thick cloth mitten, yet the blood seeped through. Emeline stood next to him, her hand on his shoulder. The baroness had retreated to the doorway. “I shall go down and reassure my daughter,” she said. “But since we’re on foot, we shall follow at a distance.”
“Oh, Maman. I’d give you my horse, but I must stay with Nicholas,” Emeline said. “Perhaps you and Avice and Martha should go back home and warn the servants to prepare for him. Warm the bedchamber, have water and bandages ready, make a light supper. Gruel – and –”
“Apple codlings,” murmured Nicholas.
“Yes, my dear, the household should be warned indeed. Petronella and Bill must return immediately to prepare the Strand House for his lordship. But,” declared the baroness, “I intend accompanying poor Nicholas and my daughter to The Tower.”
Alan bowed. “My lady, I ride a beast far below your station, but she’s yours, if you’ll have her. I can walk. It’s no more than a spit to the Tower gates.”
Nicholas groaned. “I need no chaperones. Get someone to guard that bastard in the corner, then someone else call the constable. He’s important and I want him alive.”
“Adrian,” said Emeline with an undisguised smile, “will come back home here to a rather unexpected surprise.” She counted. “Four bodies. And rather a mess. Dear, dear.”
But Nicholas needed help down the stairs and it was a long time before he reached the horses waiting below. Harry had remained upstairs on his orders and Rob had gone for the constable and the doctor. David had ridden ahead to warn the authorities at the Tower, and on the baroness’s instructions, Petronella and old Bill had set off for the Strand House to alert the household.
Alan, Jerrid, the baroness, Martha and Emeline, now accompanied by her animated sister, approached the three remaining horses. The baroness mounted Alan’s docile mare, taking Avice up before her. Martha shook her head and stood solid, ready to walk. Nicholas was hoisted into the saddle of his own horse. Jerrid then helped Emeline mount. “No, no, I shall walk,” he told them, “and lead the boy’s horse.” He took the reins, smiling up. “Not used to being treated as a feeble invalid, are you, my boy? But it’s excellent practise, I imagine, if you intend keeping up this life of adventure. Just don’t fall out of the saddle or I shall have to tie you on.”
Nicholas grinned. “Not quite that infirm, uncle. But I seem to be missing a finger or two. I shall miss them.”
“You’ve got eight others,” his uncle nodded. “Dare say they’ll suffice. Now,” he looked around, “is young Adrian in sight?”
He was not. There was no sign either of Adrian, nor of his newly arrived companion. It had stopped raining. The eels had sold, carters were driving out of the dockside, wheels squeaking on wet cobbles, cargo bulging. Another carvel had come in to dock, its gunwales straining against the wooden quayside. Nicholas and his party turned their backs and rode slowly away from the warehouses, heading north east into the vast and brooding shadows of the Tower.
They crossed the moat at the Byward Tower, entering the inner ward. Patrolling guards, alerted to their arrival, escorted the party beyond the curtain wall to the physician’s chambers where David was already waiting. The captain of the guard bowed, the doctor hurried to aid his patient, the horses were led away, Jerrid supported Nicholas across to the long sheeted mattress within the chamber of surgery, turned once with instructions to Alan, said briefly, “My lady, I shall inform you as soon as the physician informs me. But then I must see Brackenbury,” and the doors were quickly closed.
Emeline stepped forward, but the baroness took her hand. “Not yet, my dear. Let the men relate their stories and complain of their injuries. I’m sure dear Nicholas is in very good hands.”
“Well, Jerrid brought him here because the resident doctor is the best. And I believe Brackenbury is Constable of the Tower, and one of the king’s most trusted. He and Nicholas are already friends.”
“So Nicholas could hardly be better served. Meanwhile we shall wait, and wander the grounds.”
Avice had thrown back the hood of her cape, adjusted her little headdress, and was peering around. “It has been an amazing day,” she confided, shaking rain drops from her shoulders. “Maman has ordered me a new gown and it may even be ready by Thursday. It is a real lady’s gown, Emma, and just as nice as some of yours. You’ll see, because I shall wear it all the time. Then we had dinner at a very grand inn, with braised beef and proper Burgundy. After that it was even more exciting and everything happening with swords and running up and down stairs and Nicholas wounded. I’m rather glad I didn’t see anyone’s head cut in half, but it’s nice to know that the bad people got killed. Such an unexpected thing to happen just when I was getting tired of walking. And now this. I do hope we can see the lions.”
“You mean it’s a lucky chance that my husband is wounded close to death?”
The open grounds, banked in grass beyond the cobbled bailey, seemed a maze of walkways and narrow crossings between the huge stone towers, great wooden doorways and guarded paths. The first week of June and the days were long but the rain had coated everything in a drip, drip of shadow. Small braziers had been lit, the flare of torches hung from doorways, flickering through the alleyways past towering stone. It was just as busy and almost as noisy as the dockside. There was a constant scurry of servants with a flap of maids holding on their headdresses as the wind swept up from the river, scullions rushing on duty in their new clean aprons, delivery m
en pushing a bumping rattle of laden barrows and marketeers’ carts, a trudge of suppliers carrying great leaking baskets of fish, a troop of lawyers, their capes catching the breeze, and the endless tramp of the guards.
Martha now kept to Emeline’s side. “I like a place,” she said, crossing her arms and looking around, “that keeps order. Order means routine and routine means safe keeping.”
“Order? That’s true enough,” nodded Alan. “There’s authorities over authorities and everyone in their proper place with those that work for the lords, and those that work for the lesser folk, and those that work for those that work – and once you set your boots past the moat, then you’re answerable to a hundred more and remembered by two hundred others. Even them ten gardeners has another ten working just on clipping them hedges and sweeping them paths. Day and night, it is, and night is more watched than by day.”
Avice was hopping from one small foot to the other. “And the menagerie?”
“Across by the Lion Tower, mistress,” Alan told Avice, “which is where the mint operates and is best not to go, being as there’s gold and silver stored for the coinage pressing and a dozen guards to guard it.”
“I’m not in the least interested in lions, and I shall wait here until my husband reappears or I am invited in,” said Emeline sternly.
Seagulls, in from the estuary, were flocking along the stone parapets where the walls overlooked the Thames. High tide was seething up the river banks, surging towards the pillars of the Bridge. “Perhaps,” suggested the baroness, raising her voice over the avian complaint, “we should await Nicholas in the church, my dear. A very pretty building they say.”
Emeline sighed. “I suppose prayer is the right thing for such an occasion – but if Nicholas reappears and I am not here waiting –”
It was David who appeared first. “His lordship,” he announced, “is feeling somewhat improved, my lady. And the physician suggests, should you wish to –”
“I most certainly do,” said Emeline, and marched to the door. She turned once. “Take Avice and visit the lions and swans on the moat and the royal apartments and anything else you wish, Maman. I shall find you later.”
The baroness sniffed. “I shall take your sister home,” she informed her. “It has been a long day, the afternoon is fading, and we have walked enough. Since I now have use of four strong hooves, I intend beginning a leisurely stroll back to the Strand, which is where you will find me later, on, Emeline, should you deign to look.” She nodded to Martha, and took her younger daughter’s arm “I am looking forward to a hot supper.”
Nicholas was seated on the bed, deep in conversation with the physician. He appeared to be blooming with health. He looked up as Emeline entered, and grinned. “We’ve been talking about the uses of blood and its circulation,” he informed her. “Seems I’ve lost so much blood it will relax the heart, slow the circulation thus aiding breathing, and certainly do me good. Personally I just think it makes me wobbly kneed, but the doctor assures me I’m wrong. I shall now recover wonderfully and grow new fingers.”
“Not quite, my lord.”
Jerrid also lounged on the mattressed platform, looking perfectly comfortable. “But our boy will live, probably to a disreputable old age. Come in, my dear, and tell him to behave in a sedate manner while the rest of us go looking for the wretched Adrian.”
Nicholas shook his now neatly bandaged head. “Leave Adrian. He’s lost most of his men. I want that last one left alive, and I want him questioned by the ward sheriff. Hopefully Rob has that under control. Adrian can go hide his tail in France or sail off to the Spice Islands for all I care. I wish him joy of it.”
Sitting now beside him, Emeline clutched his left hand. “But my love, you must be feeling horribly ill. You must come home and rest. I shall arrange for a litter.”
“Litter be damned,” Nicholas said with sudden asperity. “Must we pass our time nursing each other in turn?” He laughed, looking up at the doctor. “Make your announcement, sir. Am I fit to ride?”
The doctor was wiping his hands on a blood stained towel. “The gash in your forehead is now stitched, and the stumps of the fingers cauterized, my lord. You have two broken ribs but those will heal if you refrain from undue exercise, and the blow to your head which had caused some stunning of the wits, will clear as you rest. The skull appears undamaged and a headache may be the worst you’ll suffer for it, sir, though you must keep both wounds well bandaged, use the salve I have given you, and do not use your left hand for at least two weeks.” He nodded, untying his apron and folding it neatly. “And I advise you to contact your own medick tomorrow, my lord,” he continued, “since there is always the risk of infection. But I believe a brisk ride home is quite acceptable.”
The late sunshine was an earnest endeavour through the sullen clouds. Nicholas, his wife, his squire and his Uncle Jerrid stood on the steps leading down from the Beauchamp Tower. The rising tide of the river behind them was a steady slurp against the water gate. David brought the horses and assisted his master and mistress into the saddle. Nicholas straightened his back and shoulders, took up the reins and squinted into the low slanting sunbeams. “Home, then,” he said, his voice stronger. “I’ll wait for no one. The sheriff can come to me. But is Brackenbury in his chambers?”
“I’ll report to Sir Robert Brackenbury.” David nodded. “If I may offer you use of my horse, sir,” he bowed briefly to Jerrid, “for your ride back to the Strand. Alan can walk ahead and I’ll follow on foot.”
Jerrid took the reins and swung his leg over the mare’s back. “Sir Robert’s a busy man. If he’s not here, simply inform his lieutenant.”
They left the Tower, its sunny greens and looming stone, three riders and Alan Venter leading the way. The streets were no longer busy, with shops packing up as day faded. The sun now slid behind them into corals, fast deepening to a crimson sunset.
At first they heard nothing, but they had barely passed from the observance of the Tower’s patrols, when they were attacked. Six men had been waiting. A yell, a rush of feet and they appeared, racing suddenly from Water Lane to the left.
Jerrid’s horse reared, startled. Nicholas whirled, his horse snorting in sudden panic as he drew his sword from within his cape. Alan drew his knife, lunging towards the assailants’ leader. Nicholas lashed down, the sword found its mark but unable to hold the reins with his wounded left hand, his horse wheeled. Emeline reached out from her own mount, taking the frightened mare’s reins as it circled as if to bolt. Nicholas yelled, “We’re outnumbered. Emma, get under cover.”
Jerrid was kicking off two men who were pulling him from the horse’s back, dragging him to the ground. One boot found another man’s groin, his sword to the same man’s chest. “Bastards,” he yelled. “Is there no one around to help? Set up a hue and cry. Call the Tower guards.”
“We’re too far beyond the walls –” Nicholas swayed, grabbing at both pommel and sword hilt. The man below him retreated, his shoulder slashed. Nicholas turned back to Emeline. “Get back, for I can’t protect you. Ride back for David.”
She had lost her headdress. Whirling, swirling, surrounded by shouting men and the thrust of blades, her cloak was cut and her hair escaped its pins, half blinding her. She leaned suddenly across, found the hilt of Nicholas’s short knife within his belt, and pulled it out. With a kick of her heels she spurred her horse into the fray and stabbed downwards. A wild aim, it found one man’s cheek and sliced through, grinding into his jaw. In fury, he jabbed back but Emeline’s horse reared backwards as she clung on. She kept hold of the knife, dripping blood to her skirts. “For pity’s sake,” Nicholas yelled at her, “Emma, get out of here. Ride back for David.”
Jerrid was on the ground and on his back, three men on top of him, while Alan grappled with another. Nicholas rode straight into the mob. The horse, forced forwards, trampled arms, legs and backs. Jerrid crawled free.
A man and his wife, passing by, ran for cover but two others raced forwa
rds, shouting. Windows opened, someone screamed, a child peered from his upstairs chamber, cheering on both sides as his father ordered him to race for the ward’s constable. A goat, its tether pulled loose, ran from an alley and butted the ruffian Nicholas had already wounded. Someone raced after the goat, and three more louts appeared from Water Lane, each armed. All three ran straight at Nicholas. Emeline was crying, hair in her eyes. She had lost hold of both reins, fumbling her grip as the horses swerved, avoiding feet and steel. Jerrid scrambled to his feet and kicked out, but his leg was caught by two grasping huge and filthy hands, and he was dragged back beneath a scrimmage. His horse, left riderless, bolted.
Thunder split the sunset’s scarlets. The lightening dazzled for one blink, then night fell like an unchained portcullis. There were shapes moving through the murk, searching to discover which side – which part – who to support – while more appeared from laneways and doorways and their shadows merged – shouting and flailing – impossible to know who to help as citizens emerged from their houses wielding saucepans, jugs of water and kitchen knives. But with no one dressed as a lord, and none wearing the label villain, every man attacked every other. Yet some swore in French, and were well armed.
Emeline screamed, “Where are you?”
And, his voice disappearing beneath the hoard, Nicholas yelled back, “Get the bloody constable.”
Now it was raining. Slashing through the confusion, suddenly illuminated by the white blade of lightening; the storm was directly above them. Someone she couldn’t see gripped Emeline’s arm. “My lady. Come with me.”
She pulled away. “No. I won’t leave him.” She still had the knife, and waved it.
“It’s me, my lady. David. I’ve sent some child and his father for the constable. I’ve set the alarm rolling from the Byward Tower to the conduit. But I can’t help his lordship until you’re out safe. He won’t let me.”
“I’m safe.” Emeline shook her head, loose curls now streaming rain.
The Flame Eater Page 54